Beneath The Pleasure
by raehex
Summary: It's become a routine; an incredibly poisonous, destructive, delicious routine. [Dean Ambrose/Seth Rollins. Rated M for smut.]


**A/N:** Ugh, these boys. This one-shot is what "Anchor" was _supposed_ to be. This time, they decided to listen. This is based around the lyrics for "Contemptress" by Motionless In White, specifically the line "beneath all the pleasure, all you are is pain." There are influences of the whole song in this though, and if you want the lyrics in full, come and find me on Tumblr, I've posted them there :D Mind you, this album came out _today_, yeah, I work quick.

Read, review, cry over these stupid boys with me.

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><p>Seth didn't know why he allowed this to happen. Honestly. He knew this was a terrible idea, but it was already too late, he had already sent the text, asking if he was free. Of course he was. What the fuck else <em>would<em> he be doing right now? It was déjà vu, every time. He'd get this weird itch in the back of his brain, something he couldn't reach, this aching emptiness in his system. He'd send the text, and twenty minutes later, he'd hear that knock, the same pulse, every time. And he'd open the door, and there he'd be.

All disheveled and dimples and blue eyes and burning fucking lust and he could already feel his heart breaking all the fuck over again.

He was surprised that Dean kept doing this. He figured he'd get sick of this, of being nothing but a glorified booty call, late at night, when Seth was lonely. Which was becoming much more frequent, and that really got under Seth's skin. There was just something about Dean, he couldn't put his finger on it, and he'd laid his hands on him in various ways, he still couldn't grasp what it was. But he was hooked, and he wondered, briefly, if maybe Dean was as well.

It was late, very late, and yet there was that knocking pulse against the door of his hotel room, like clockwork. Seth wondered, sadly, if Dean waited by his phone for nights like these.

Dean did, sadly. He absolutely did wait around for these texts. He was amused at first, seeing Seth claw for him from across the gulch that he had dug himself, and he gave in, out of sheer morbid curiosity, to see what Seth would do. So when he showed up about fifteen or twenty minutes later, he knocked on the door lazily, and when Seth ripped the damn door open and dragged him in by the lapels of his jacket, forcing his lips against him brutally, using his body to slam the door shut behind him, he was pleasantly surprised. Seth had never been this desperate before, so he gave in, enjoying that sating of his needs, and figured that would be the last of it.

But this became a very unhealthy habit for the both of them, one that neither of them was trying to kick any time soon. Oh sure, Dean knew that he was falling into addictions again, even if it wasn't drugs or alcohol or cigarettes, but Seth Rollins is another type of drug, one that lights a flame up your spine and causes a glow in your eyes that is absolutely otherworldly, and fuck, he always needed more, always sooner, always for longer expanses of time. If he could freebase on a human being, he'd pick Seth Rollins, any day of the week.

That was incredibly troublesome. Since he still hated his fucking guts for betraying him.

But watching him beg and plead, moaning desperately, it was a beautiful thing. It was even more beautiful when he would make _him_ beg. That was another thing that Dean didn't like to admit either, that just as Seth was desperate and wanting, he was too, and oh _god_ he'd feel so lost if Seth ever stopped this. Even just the taste of his lips, that would be something he could never replace, never in a million years. This was a dangerous game that they had played since FCW. Hatefucking, unfortunately, has its way of making itself burrowed under the skin like a fucking tick, and it was near impossible to dig it out before too much had been taken from you.

So here he was, barely dressed, outside of his hotel room. He had jeans and a t-shirt on, barefooted because, eh, fuck it. He had barely put his fist down from knocking on the door when it whipped open, and Seth stood there, chest heaving. Oh, _fuck_, he needed it that bad, huh.

Seth _did_ need it that bad. If he could extract whatever the fuck it was in Dean that made him so goddamn addicted he'd just do that, because he honestly did not need this in his life, but it was like someone had let a gas leak hit a match, and if they were going to burn to death, they were going to do it in each others arms, going to Hell with twisted limbs and equally twisted fates.

Seth barely had a minute to grab at Dean before he was slammed against the wall, Dean slamming the door shut with one hand, while his other hand rested against Seth's throat, his thumb pressing slightly against it as he kissed him roughly, biting at his bottom lip, moving his hand to Seth's hair and gripping it tightly. He wasn't sure if he wanted to devour Seth or if he wanted to climb inside him, he wanted both, he wanted neither, he wanted fucking _something_ and for some goddamn reason, Seth Rollins had it.

Dean's lips were bruising against his skin, warm and chapped, tongue and teeth trailing down his neck to rest on his shoulder, before a rough bite caused him to whimper, pulling Dean closer to him by the belt loops of his jeans, pressing himself against him, letting Dean feel how he was already hard, the anticipation and desire getting the best of him. Whatever this thing was that was inside of him, this irritating hunger, he needed Dean to rip it out of him, to devour it, to light it on fire and watch it melt into absolute fucking nothingness.

Dean knew he should let him suffer, let him deal with the blue balls, make him so close to the edge and then leave, he sure as fuck deserved it. But he had this feeling, almost like he was parched, as if he had seen water for the first time in days of dehydration, and whatever it was about the way Seth stared at him, it quenched it. So he pressed back against him, rubbing himself against Seth's hardness, letting the moan that broke forth from Seth's lips, bitten to the point of bruising and bleeding, wash over him, seep into his skin, coating it like a film.

It was all too much, too quickly, but they were spiraling downwards so fast that neither of them could get a grip. Seth worked desperately at Dean's jeans, nearly ripping them off of him, and when he felt bare skin on his hands, he groaned. He was right… Dean _had_ been waiting, because he didn't go without like this. He wrapped his hand around Dean's length, working him to full hardness, desperate for, shit, he didn't know _what_ he wanted Dean to do, he just knew he needed him there, with him, fuck, _in _him, on him, just…. He needed _him_, as much as he hated to admit it. He did this, and here he was, crawling to him every time like a fucking junkie.

Dean appreciated the feel of Seth's hand, but it wasn't what he needed, and he moved his hand away, before biting at Seth's ear, telling him to get undressed. He'd usually just fuck him half-dressed, the desperation being too much, but he wanted _everything_, he wanted that feel of skin touching skin in full, and damnit, he'd take what the fuck he wanted this time.

It was almost as if he had just blinked his eyes and Seth had been naked, but then again, he wasn't really that dressed in the first place. He had expected to need to get lube and a condom, knowing exactly where in Seth's _stupid fucking briefcase_ he kept it, but Seth had stopped him, telling him that he didn't need the condom, and that _he didn't need the lube_, _he was already ready._

Oh fuck, he really _did_ need this badly.

Seth backed up towards the bed, when Dean grabbed the back of his head, gripping tightly at his hair, kissing him roughly once more. He broke the kiss, desperate for breath just as badly as Seth was. Seth moved to be bent over the bed, which Dean took as invitation, rubbing the head of his cock against Seth before slipping inside, slowly, so painfully slow, making Seth grumble in frustration before feeling the air knock out of his lungs when Dean finally snapped his hips against him, no further hesitation in any of his thrusts.

There was nothing caring or romantic about this, that was a lie they couldn't play with anymore. It was a mutual wanting, a habit, a routine, and Dean held Seth by his hair with one hand, his hip with the other, gritting out between his teeth, "that's it, fucking take it, you always fucking do." He pulled Seth's head up, the angle his body bent in causing a deeper thrust. Seth felt Dean's warm breath against his face before he heard the low whisper, "Every. Fucking. Time," each word punctuated by a sharp thrust, before his face was slammed down into the mattress.

Dean's hand moved from Seth's hair to grip against the rumpled sheets and blanket on the bed, and he realized belatedly that Seth's hand was right next to his, gripping with whitened knuckles. _Ah fuck it_, Dean moved his hand over Seth's, entwining fingers as he fucked into him harder, knowing that he wouldn't last longer.

Seth couldn't take much more, the way he was being fucked and how each sharp thrust made his body jerk against the mattress, the friction against his cock, he'd need to muffle himself with how hard he knew he'd cum. Dean was the only one who ever made him fall apart like this, and he knew that was only a part of his addiction, but he didn't want to deal with those feelings right now, he just wanted to get off, to feel his nerves dissolve into fucking nothingness, to not feel that goddamn hurt for a few moments, the hurt he inflicted upon himself and upon Dean. He knew that if Dean could see his face, he'd see the guilt scrawled upon it.

Maybe that's why he always hid his face in the mattress or against the wall. So he didn't have to see it.

Finally, Dean felt Seth fall apart beneath him, felt him tighten around him, his muscles tensing, and he fucked him through it, until he too felt that snap in his body, spilling hot inside of Seth, his hand still in a death lock, way too intimate for what had just happened. He tried to pry his hand away, but Seth wouldn't give way on his grip.

Finally Seth let go, and Dean used that small doorway to freedom to pull out, groaning in relief. He got dressed slowly, watching Seth stumble with shaky legs towards the bathroom to clean up. He'd have to slip out now, to avoid the awkward tiptoeing around the unresolved emotions stuck between them. He felt like a shadow had fallen on him, the guilt of giving in following him, poking and prodding at him, mocking him. He remembered when he could just crawl into bed and wait with open arms for Seth to collapse into. But that was a time so distant from where they were now, they could never go back there, not now, and possibly not ever. It hurt, it stung, it fucking burned him.

He shut the door behind him, sighing before walking back down the hallway to his room, shaking his head and muttering.

Seth came out of the bathroom to an empty room. He wasn't surprised in the slightest. He knew what this did to Dean, and he hated doing this to him. He hated being the one to always make him crawl to his door.

So, the next night, he stood outside of Dean's door, and knocked nervously. Dean opened it slowly, and that low chuckle that made Seth's stomach flip was the answer he received, before those three words. "Every fucking time."


End file.
